


touch has a memory

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Female Solo, Masturbation, bedannibalprompts, red dragon arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12532836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: It was the last thing she expected to find. And in the least possible place. A pocket handkerchief lost amongst her lingerie. It was almost as if he had planted it there; he did enjoy nothing more than spending time around her intimate areas.





	touch has a memory

It was the last thing she expected to find. And in the least possible place. A pocket handkerchief lost amongst her lingerie. It was almost as if he had planted it there; he did enjoy nothing more than spending time around her intimate areas.

Bedelia wondered how it got there; a packing slip, no doubt. Upon leaving Florence, she had managed to keep a vast majority of her wardrobe. The FBI did not care about her private belongings; even if Jack Crawford was not convinced by her story, he was not focused on details of her return. He got his price after all. And she got her immunity; a couple of souvenirs did not mean a thing.

She did it for the couture, she told herself; it would a shame to let all these beautiful clothes go to waste. But not all of them were picked at random. The first dress he bought her in Paris, the one from their first gala in Florence which he had nearly ruined in the spur of a moment (she could still spot the small tear on the back), the one she wore on her surprise birthday celebration, these were first to be packed away. All silent witnesses, now hanging in her old wardrobe, holding memories she did not want to acknowledge, but she did not want to part with either.

The lingerie box remained closed the longest; after all, she felt no need for its fancy contents now. But, above all, it was filled with recollections of the most intimate nature, ones she was not sure she would want to face. Her personal Pandora’s box of luscious offerings and the amorous moments they provoked.

Now it was finally opened and the last remnants of Florence were unsealed.

Her first thought was to toss the handkerchief, but her fingers could not let go. She traced the silk material with her fingertips; smooth and cool to touch, bright, powdery blue colour shimmering in the light where her fingers creased the surface. She could still call to mind the suit he was wearing then, she remembered adjusting his tie. And the smile on his face when he pulled her closer, a practiced hold around her waist and a heartfelt kiss on her mouth. Her grip on the material tightened, only to loosen completely a second later. But instead of letting it fall to the ground, she placed it on her vanity. She would discard it later.

The underwear was put away hastily; it was not like Bedelia, but she no longer wished to linger in the moment. This moment belonged to the past.

Later that evening, she emerged from the bathroom after a long shower she hoped would wash the dust of memories away. Yet, there it was, just where she left it. She used to have all of him and now all she had left was a single piece of cloth. The irony pricked her heart sharply and a sigh slipped from her lips as all of a sudden breathing became harder.

A robe wrapped tightly around her figure, wet feet leaving a trail on a wooden floor, she walked towards the vanity and picked up the handkerchief once more.

She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply, somehow hoping a residue of his scent would still cling to the fabric after all these months. There was nothing, but the faint trace of the lingerie box. Suddenly she wished she shared his extraordinary sense of smell. Not that she needed a reminder; she remembered his scent so well, his earthy cologne, and most importantly, the warm aroma of his skin underneath it.

She closed her eyes and the memories she attempted to supress streamed in her mind like an endless movie roll. A loop that did not stop and Bedelia could not look away. Her eyes opened, but the visions in her mind played on. She felt distressed, her heart beating fast and her body restless. Unable to do anything, but she needed to do _something_.

Clutching the material, she moved to sit on the bed; she was unable to ease her mind, but she could bring relieve to her body. She undid her sash and allowed the robe to part. Without a second thought, she trailed the handkerchief on the skin of her chest down to the mound of her breast and over her sensitive nipple. She recalled the feeling of her naked body pressed against the material of his shirt, in the evenings after she finished her bath and he wrapped her in a towel and then his arms, uncaring about his tailored clothes getting wet. Bedelia moved to lie down on the bed, her robe now fully opened. Her other hand reached for her other breast and she pinched her nipple, hard, yet something was amiss. She repeated the gesture, but her own touch could not replicate Hannibal’s; his fingers squeezing her nipples hard enough to make her cry out in pleasure, but never too hard, a perfect balance.

Still, the thought of his hands on her made her instantly aroused, her body even more high-strung than before. Her hand left her breast and travelled down to rest between her legs. Her fingers slowly traced her labia, imagining it was a tip of Hannibal’s tongue instead. He always started off slowly, savouring her, making her unfold for him, soft and wet. She instinctively parted her legs wider as if he was here. The fingers moved to her swollen bud, envisioning his tongue, bringing her closer to ecstasy with each broad stroke. Her own movements became sharper, an exasperated groan left her parted lips, but the pressure of her own fingers was suddenly not enough.

She moved her hand and pushed a finger inside herself, immediately followed by a second one, thinking of him stretching her open. Her other hand continued to fondle her breast through the silk fabric. But it was still not enough. A third finger joined the others as she desperately tried to recreate the sensation of him inside her, silky and warm, filing her up wholly like no one before, hitting the exact right spot, over and over again. Her small fingers worked tirelessly, attempting to reach the places he claimed so effortlessly. He always felt _so good_.

Her hips trembling, she finally came, silently with eyes closed. Unlike the nights in Florence when she found herself loud, more vocal than she had ever been before. He made her utterly undone, in ways she had never thought were possible.

Now the temporary release left her unsatisfied, with nothing but an empty ache in her core. She shivered, feeling suddenly cold; there was no heat of Hannibal’s arms to bring her down from her high and envelop her in blissful warmth.

Bedelia pulled the robe around her in one, abrupt motion, brushing off the moment and the memories. Getting off the bed, she headed down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of whiskey. Without preamble, she took a large sip of the golden liquid. It burned her throat, but it did not warm her body. The heaviness in her chest remained, it felt as if her heart was too wounded to keep a proper circulation. Perhaps at least sleep would come easier to her. She finished the drink in one mouthful, putting the glass aside and returning to the bedroom.

Her eyes fell on the handkerchief, the unfortunate culprit of it all, now resting uncaringly on her bed. Bedelia took a deep breath and grasped the silk square. With a final look, she folded it neatly and placed it on the shelf in her closet, amongst her remaining couture.

There were more than just souvenirs, there were proofs. Proofs that it was all real, a fairy tale come true.

Perhaps one day she would put on that dress again and he would place that handkerchief in his pocket and it would be real once more. And she would be happy again.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon that Bedelia did not take any lovers after Florence; she knew it would never be enough. She waited for Hannibal. I apologise for all the angst (damn that Red Dragon arc). I need to write some happy bedannibal asap.
> 
> This is my 50th work here. Here's to more bedannibal love! ♥


End file.
